


make peace with your pain

by thechoicewasallmine



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 05:44:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21405145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechoicewasallmine/pseuds/thechoicewasallmine
Summary: Chowder sounds close to tears when he protests, “You fucking cut yourself, Dex! I think my reaction is appropriate!”Nursey doesn’t know what his face is doing, but it feels like someone just punched him in the stomach.
Relationships: Derek “Nursey” Nurse/William “Dex” Poindexter
Comments: 32
Kudos: 252





	make peace with your pain

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning: a self-harm relapse is the main plot, here. it's not terribly graphic, but feel free to ask for more details on tumblr: thechoicewasallmine
> 
> Please don't read this just to trigger yourself.

Derek Nurse is contemplating calling his teammate to ask where the hell he is because it’s almost 5 p.m.--they watch Netflix together every Thursday at 5 p.m and it’s not a _ date _ but it’s not _ not _a date so neither of them ever miss it-- when he finally hears the front door open. His relief is quickly replaced by apprehension when he doesn’t hear the usual “honey, I’m home!” bellowed from the stairway.

Dex’s midterm presentation must not have gone as well as he had hoped and Nursey knows exactly how much his grade was counting on it.

He storms into their room like a hurricane, all harsh breaths and heavy footsteps, but it’s the look on his face that gives Nursey pause. 

“Woah, dude, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head sharply, slamming his backpack onto his desk, and starts pacing the room, not once looking in his roommate’s direction. He runs his hands through his hair, too short to grab fistfuls of, breaths coming faster, and with a start, Nursey realizes Dex isn’t just upset, he’s on the verge of a full blown panic attack. 

“Hey, Dex, slow it down, man,” he soothes, “you’re alright.”

He gets no response.

“Come on, Will, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Fuck off,” comes the choked reply, and Nursey, though used to Dex’s anxiety making him lash out, can’t help but bristle a little at the harshness in his tone. 

“I’m trying to help you.”

“I didn’t fucking ask for your help. Go away,” he spits as he crosses in front of Nursey yet again, grabbing a textbook from his desk and throwing it across the room with a frustrated shout. 

Nursey steps in before this can escalate, reaching out to grab Dex’s arm like he’s done one hundred times before, but the defensemen flinches away like he’s been burned. 

“Don’t _ fucking _touch me!”

Now it’s Nursey’s turn to flinch, instinctively curling away from the violence promised in his teammate’s voice. Dex stands there, staring at him, chest heaving, and his face goes white.

“Fuck,” he gasps, then resumes his frantic pacing, this time grabbing a puck from the shelf above his desk and hurling it at the wall.

Nursey finds his composure to warn, “Fucking chill, dude, you’re gonna put a hole in the wall.”

“I don’t _ fucking _care!” he screams, sending another puck flying. 

“Dex, stop!” Nursey pleads, matching his volume. He raises his voice so rarely that it’s enough to make his teammate freeze, back turned, shoulders moving up and down with the force of his panicked breaths.

Nursey forces himself to soften his tone when he says, “I can’t handle being around you right now, but I don’t want you to be alone so I’m gonna send C in here, okay?”

The fact that Dex is self-aware enough to not respond because he knows he’ll say something he’ll regret makes Nursey feel okay to slip out the door before he starts throwing things again, closing it firmly behind him then slumping against the wall.

He lets out a shaky exhale and reminds himself that it’s just Dex. His teammate, roommate, defensive partner, and one of his best friends. Dex wouldn’t hurt him. The violent anger he’s displaying isn’t directed toward him. There is no danger here despite his anxiety trying to convince him otherwise. He breathes in, counts to five, breathes out, and walks the three steps to Chowder’s door, cursing under his breath when he finds the room empty. 

He heads down the stairs to check the living room. Chowder and the tadpoles are sitting on the couch playing NHL, chirping and laughing, while Bitty sits on the arm of the recliner next to them, tapping away on his phone, probably live-tweeting the best of the chirps. 

None of the guys look up when he enters the room so he calls, “Yo, C,” and tilts his head towards the stairs when the goalie turns to look at him.

Something must show on his face because Chowder tosses his controller aside and crosses the room quickly, brows furrowed. 

“What’s up?” he wonders quietly. 

“Can you go hang with Dex for a while? He’s upset about something but won’t talk to me about it.”

“You sure he doesn’t just need some space?”

Nursey frowns, doubting himself. “I don’t know, man, he seemed kind of...lost in his head, you know? I’d feel better if you tried to talk to him.”

Chowder pats him on the arm. “Of course, dude.” 

Nursey reaches out to stop him when he heads to the stairs and warns, “He was a little, uh violent? Not like--he was just throwing stuff, so you know, be careful. And try not to let him put his fist through a wall.”

Chowder’s mouth turns down, concerned. “Are _ you _okay, Nursey?” 

“Yeah, man,” he brushes him off. “Don’t worry about me. Go see what’s up with the angry red head.”

“Alright.” With one last slap on the shoulder, Chowder trots up the stairs.

Nursey lets out a long breath and joins the tadpoles on the couch, grateful neither of them comment on the secret conversation that just occurred, and pointedly ignoring the look that Bitty is giving him, telling him that he definitely wants to comment on it. No sooner does he pick up the XBOX controller, a panicked shout comes from upstairs. 

“Connor! I need you up here, now!”

Whiskey, probably thanks to his years of training, doesn’t hesitate, jumping to his feet and running up the stairs and Nursey is hot on his heels because why would Chowder be calling for Whiskey unless he needed his EMT skills and if he needs his EMT skills then--

“Fuck off, C, it’s nothing,” Nursey hears Dex snap from inside the bathroom when he bursts into their room behind Whiskey. 

“That’s not nothing, Dex!”

“I’m fine.”

“There’s blood _ everywhere!_”

Nursey feels faint.

“Hey,” Whiskey steps into the doorway of the bathroom, effectively blocking Nursey’s view for which he is embarrassingly grateful. His voice is calm and composed when he asks, “What’s going on?”

“Chowder is overreacting,” comes Dex’s sharp reply.

Chowder sounds close to tears when he protests, “You fucking cut yourself, Dex! I think my reaction is appropriate!”

A soft gasp sounds behind Nursey, and he turns to see Bitty with a hand pressed over his mouth, Tango right behind him looking scared and confused. Nursey doesn’t know what his face is doing, but it feels like someone just punched him in the stomach.

“Alright, Chris, why don’t you give Will some space?” Whiskey suggests quietly, and Nursey spares a second to admire the sophomore’s composure before Chowder stumbles out of the bathroom, pale in the face, and all but throws himself into Bitty’s open arms.

Nursey will deal with the guilt for putting Chowder in this situation later, right now he only has mind for Will. When Whiskey steps further into the bathroom, Nursey takes his spot in the doorway and carefully does not lose his shit.

He notices the blood first--the drops on the floor, around the sink, on Will’s green shorts, and the white towel he’s pressing against his left forearm that is almost completely soaked through. Will is sitting on the edge of the bathtub, gaze trained on the floor, breathing measured. His face is almost impassive, the tension in his jaw the only indication that something is wrong, and the idea that this much blood isn’t scary to him makes Nursey’s stomach turn.

He knows Will has a history of self-harm. He also knows it’s been years since his last relapse. 

If Nursey hadn’t bailed on him, he wouldn’t have--

Nope. No time to entertain that train of thought and the anxiety spiral it will lead to.

“What did you use?” Whiskey asks gently, bringing Nursey back to the moment.

Dex doesn’t answer, keeping his head down and biting his lip.

Whiskey sighs and nudges his shoulder. “Not gonna judge you, dude.” He waits until Dex turns to him to lift his own black basketball shorts, revealing lines of faint scars on his upper thighs. 

Dex lets out a slow breath, relief bleeding the tension out of his shoulders, and kicks something out from under his foot. Nursey can’t help the quiet noise he lets out when he realizes it’s Dex’s pocket knife.

“You don’t have to be here, Nursey,” Dex says quietly.

His reply comes out in a whisper. “Do you want me to go?”

“No.” Dex shrugs. “But don’t feel obligated to stay.”

A moment of awkward silence passes, during which Nursey wonders if he should just leave after all, before Whiskey says, “So, infection risk, definitely.”

Dex sighs and nods.

“Stitches?”

“Dunno, haven’t looked yet,” Dex replies, grimacing when he shifts the towel on his arm.

Whiskey holds his hand out, wiggling his fingers with an expectant look on his face. Dex balks.

“I can tell if they need stitches myself, Whisk.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not gonna believe you if you say they don’t.” He wiggles his fingers again. “Gimmie.”

Dex sighs again, relenting, and holds out his arm. Before Whiskey removes the towel, he looks up at Nursey and suggests, “Maybe don’t watch.”

Not needing to be told twice, he ducks his head and stares at his socks, forcing himself to not look up when he hears Dex hiss through his teeth. 

After a moment, Whiskey sighs. “Alright, we’re going to urgent care.” 

At that, Nursey lifts his head, alarmed, catching sight of the open wounds that have yet to stop bleeding before Whiskey covers them with a clean towel. Dex meets his eyes and Nursey tries to give him a look that conveys his support and understanding without any of the sadness or fear that’s threatening to overwhelm him. 

“Can we take your car?” Whiskey directs the question to Nursey, who nods quickly.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll get my keys for you.” 

He starts to step back into the bedroom but Dex stops him. “Actually, can you drive us?”

“I--of course, man.” He’s floored by the level of vulnerability his teammate is showing by requesting he join them. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay, yeah, just let me grab my shoes.”

Dex’s lips twitch when he adds, “Maybe a shirt, too.”

Nursey looks down, remembering that he is, in fact, shirtless, and nods. “Right. Good call.”

Whiskey and Dex follow him back into the room and as Nursey pulls a shirt over his head, he hears Dex say, “I owe you an apology, C, I just--I can’t right now.” His voice wavers at the end, and Nursey turns in time to see Chowder reach out to squeeze Dex’s good arm. 

“It’s okay, Dex. I’m not mad.” 

The defensemen nods slowly but says nothing in response. 

Whiskey puts his hand on the small of Dex’s back. “C’mon, bro. The sooner the better.”

Nursey rattles his keys. “Let’s roll.”

He follows Whiskey and Dex down the stairs, letting them walk through the front door before turning to Bitty and requesting, “Look after Chowder, yeah?”

The senior sets his face, determined, and nods. “Of course, hon. Keep me updated.”

In the end, Dex gets thirteen stitches and repeats “yes, I’m in therapy, yes, I’m taking medication for my anxiety, no, I don’t want to kill myself,” at least five times. He’s blushing a deep red, quietly ashamed, when he explains to the doctor that he was feeling out of control because of a group presentation that fell apart thanks to his mistakes, and reluctantly admits his anxiety is getting worse because he’s overworked between school, hockey, and his two part-time jobs.

By the time they’re back at the Haus, well after 9 p.m, even Nursey is tired of the questions. 

That doesn’t stop him from asking more.

“How are you so casual about it?”

“What, cutting?” Dex frowns at him, pausing where he’s bent over removing his shoes with one hand, before finally shrugging, mouth twisted up wryly. “Years of practice, I guess.”

Nursey makes a face and Dex sighs, elaborating, “I know it’s not a healthy coping mechanism and I don’t want to keep doing it, but I’m not gonna drown in guilt for making a bad choice. One relapse doesn’t erase years of progress.”

“Huh.” Nursey blinks at him, impressed. “That’s wise as hell, dude.”

He laughs. “Shout out to therapy.”

“Word.” Nursey reaches out to his good arm for a fist bump.

They get ready for bed in relative silence, finally settling into their beds after a long, emotionally exhausting day. 

Dex clears his throat before saying, softly, “I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier. I know I really freaked you out.”

“You did kinda scare me for a second,” he admits, but then shrugs and tells him, “it’s okay though, I forgive you.” He pauses for a moment before whispering, “Was I wrong to leave you alone?”

“_ No, _ Nursey,” he replies reverently. “Gosh, no. You have to put your safety before mine, _ always, _okay? And, look, I would’ve locked myself in the bathroom if you hadn’t left and, uh, I don’t know if--I stopped because Chowder came into the room. I really wasn’t trying to--you know, it wasn’t supposed to be that bad--”

“You don’t have to explain, Dex,” Nursey reassures him. “Not to me.”

“I know, but I want to. I really am trying to be better; I hate taking my anxiety out on other people. Especially on you.”

The admission is soft and sincere and Nursey swallows hard. “Dex...”

Dex sighs, quietly defeated. “I have a skype session with my therapist tomorrow.”

“Good,” Nursey lets out a relieved breath and then, because he wants Dex to know he’s not alone, adds, “Me too.”

“Good,” Dex echoes, a smile in his voice, but when he speaks again, he sounds nervous. “Scale of one to ten, how mad do you think Coach is going to be tomorrow?”

“Eh, maybe a two. You’re only out for a week, he’ll get over it.”

“Sorry you have to play with the rookies for a whole week.” His voice is carefully light.

Nursey sighs dramatically. “Guess I’ll have to find a way to get over that, too.” 

He grins when Dex lets out a quiet huff of laughter in response.

Nursey is drifting off, exhaustion taking over, when Dex whispers, almost shyly, “Thanks for coming with me today.”

He smiles into the darkness, holding on to the sound of his friend’s voice: soft, safe, and alive. “Thank you for trusting me to be there.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is...not much. But I wrote it in an hour instead of relapsing so there's that.


End file.
